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time, when Rhode Island shall stand amid the larger republics, as fair and imperishable as stood the little temple of Vesta, surrounded by the over-topping fabrics of the Palatine and the Capitol, in the magnificent days when Rome was ruled by the Cæsars. In conclusion of this subject, and without repeating the observations made in the progress of our essay, let it be briefly added that in Judge Durfee were combined not only all the virtues of the earlier type of Rhode Island character, with but few of its defects, but also what

advantage has not been displaced by education among the inhabitants of its hardy hill-sides; a practical ingenuity has existed, self-educated, along the course of its busy streams; a proud sense of personal independence has built its humble homes in the hunting grounds of Massasoit and Miantinomo; and while generations before the present saw in the State of the Anchor and of Hope, few monuments of an enlightened public sentiment, or of a banded Christian charity, they were preeminently distinguished for the possession of a strongly marked individuality of char-ever in its development at the present day acter, which has given rise to success in is most to be commended. the diverse occupations of agriculture, commerce, manufactures and the mechanical arts, and has introduced into social intercourse the great charm of variety of disposition and unprohibited diversity of opinion.

Nor should we omit to add that, in this rough granite of the Rhode Island character, may be found the basis for a superstructure, which shall be supported by all the virtues, and ornamented with the graces of the highest civilization. Already, indeed, a most admirable system of popular education is beginning to elevate and expand the native good sense of this people; the patronage of the higher seats of learning, formerly monopolized by a noble few, is now claimed as the honor of the many; and a new philanthropy, touched no less by the sufferings of the "mind diseas'd," than by the degradation of the mind uneducated, has just constructed a retreat,

where to

"Raze out the written troubles of the brain;

And with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the charg'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart.”

The principal city of the State can now boast of a private library, second to none of its particular class in the country, and of a public one, rapidly increasing on a plan, in some respects, original and truly scientific; while such specimens of a chaste architectural taste are rising within its limits, such a growing interest in public improvements is passing out from this centre into all parts of the State, and appropriating a liberal share of the general wealth to works of utility and beauty, that one may almost behold, from afar, the coming of the

Of the writings of Mr. Durfee, there remains but one to be mentioned, the greatest and the last,-though for reasons which need not here be stated, published anonymously. The Panidea has, indeed, found no readers. Ushered into the presence of our popular literature with a title so uninviting and uncouth, and with a table of contents, the phraseology of which was apparently as unintelligible as it was fantastic, it met with a reception not unlike that which might have happened to an unfashionably clad stranger, from parts unknown, who had intruded into genteel society without a friend to introduce, or a letter to accredit him. The intruder might, nevertheless, have descended from an exalted sphere of existence, though little known; and the work, in fact, is one which we hesitate not to pronounce the most remarkable metaphysical treatise written in this country since Jonathan Edwards's Inquiry into the Nature of the Will. If not a complete and elaborate intellectual system of the universe, it is, at least, a model in miniature of one-wrought with exceeding skill, harmonious in all its parts, entire within itself. Although, as in other branches of knowledge, the author's reading in philosophy was small, being confined chiefly to the writings of Coleridge, the English translations from Cousin, and some brief epitome of the history of metaphysics, yet the Panidea lays no claim to originality in its general results. It is a system of eclecticism; similar in most of its doctrines to those before advocated by the ideal or transcendental philosophy; sometimes resembling the views of Berkeley or Spinoza, and sometimes approaching to the conclusions of Fichte or Schelling.

Like the systems constructed by these celebrated metaphysicians, it attempts to frame and establish such a conception of the universe as shall get rid of the dualism of the popular philosophy. While to the human mind, the external world is declared in the Panidea to be a reality, and such a reality as our senses represent it to be, still, relatively to the mind of God, it is pronounced to be no more than the imagery of His own thoughts. That this representation of the external universe is the true one, is attempted to be proved by an argument designed to show, that the so called primary qualities of matter no more have an existence independent of the reason than have the secondary; and that, therefore, even to the reason, as it is manifested in the human mind, matter is known only by the spiritual properties ascribed to it. But the human reason, it is declared, does not differ, in substance, from the divine reason in man is the omnipresent Logos, though limited in its action, by a quasi freedom of the will, giving rise to a quasi personal identity. This limitation is represented to be "little less than absolute," and of such a nature as to prevent the author's general view from degenerating into pantheism and necessitarianism. There is, indeed, no lack of modes of expression, which, if not interpreted in accordance with the spirit and meaning of the whole theory, would as necessarily imply a belief in the pantheistic doctrine, as might even the expression of the Apostle Paul, if construed by itself, when he says that in God we live and move and have our being, or that of the Saviour himself when he declares not only himself and his Father, but his disciples also to be one. It may, perhaps, not be impossible to prove that the Panidea is pantheism; but such proof would, at once, introduce remediless confusion into the whole system of the author, and would have been sufficient to convince even himself that it was a fabric built upon the sands.

That which entitles the Panidea to the rank of a system of philosophy, is, mainly, the originality of its method. The peculiarity of this can be understood only by a study of the work itself; though it may here be briefly characterized as a method of demonstration, founded on experiment. In the narrow limits of a review, it

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would be in vain to attempt to give either an analysis or a critique of such a work as the Panidea. It may be sufficient for our purpose to call the attention of those of our readers, who take an interest in metaphysical inquiries, to this work, as a serious and, withal, not a presumptuous attempt to give, by a process of reasoning somewhat novel, a new solution of those great problems in philosophy, which have occupied the attention of the most gifted minds, but to which all the answers hitherto worked out seem only distant approximations towards the truth. Persons not familiar with metaphysical studies, would probably find great difficulty in comprehending so abstruse and spiritual a scheme of philosophy; though no one, who does understand it, will fail to perceive the extraordinary coherency as well as subtilty of the arguments to acknowledge both the clearness with which the conceptions are expressed, and the aptness with which the demonstrations are illustrated-and to be favorably impressed by the moral spirit of the author, however false he may regard the premises of his reasonings, or however strongly he may feel himself called upon to deprecate the practical tendency of his conclusions.

The construction of this system of metaphysics, was the work of a life-time. Some of the fundamental views contained in it, were committed to writing as early as during the author's connection with Congress; though the consolidation of his opinions into a logical theory took place, undoubtedly, at a much later period. Probably his philosophy would have been presented in a far more accessible form, had he lived to compose another work, long meditated, and which was designed to show the application of his metaphysical doctrines to the interpretation of history. But the execution of this purpose was frustrated by a disease which, though not occurring until the fifty-seventh year of his age, must be lamented as premature.

In bringing this paper to a conclusion, we cannot forbear repeating the hope, that the entire writings of Chief Justice Durfee will be given to the public. Even the publication of the "What-cheer" made the name of its author favorably known

to a large circle of readers in England; and his speculative writings, particularly, are well worthy not only to be read in his own country, but to occupy a permanent rank in the history of its literature. Hitherto the questions of metaphysical philosophy have been discussed in the secluded groves of the Platonic academy, or the still shade of the Stoic porch; in the myrtle-scented villa of Tusculum, or beneath the mingled palms and sycamores of Alexandria; by the cloistered scholars of Germany, and by the great English minds of an era less enlightened than the present. It remains to be seen what view is to be taken of those philosophical problems, which necessarily arise in all speculative minds, in this new world-in a land holding sacred the freedom of opinions in the soil of common sense and the practical understanding. These

| questions will be asked here-they will be answered here. And let not a shallow ridicule presume to deride that which it does not understand; nor a narrow utilitarianism anathematize that which it knows not how to appropriate. Let philosophy be tolerated in a country where all things beside are tolerated for thus will it be best improved. And when it raises its majestic voice so loud that the accents of it may be caught even amid the bustle of the Rhode Island loom and spindle, let us attend to the lessons which may be taught, in these new circumstances, by the practical mind of America; and cheerfully admit to the freedom of our republic of letters, the philosopher who brings on his well prepared credentials the seal of that State, which was the first to lay its foundations on the rock of "soul liberty."

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THE ART OF MEASURING VERSES.*

To compose good verses, may be placed among the elegant accomplishments of a thoroughly educated person. If it gives but little pleasure to others, it at least gratifies ourselves, nor can we find any idleness or mischief in a proper indulgence of so happy a taste as that of the versifier. Some historians aver, that in the first ages of the world, all writings were in metre, not even excepting laws and chronicles, and that the forms of prose were an invention of later date. A habit that is natural and harmless, is certainly not ridiculous, if one uses it with discretion; not to say that it may take the place of grosser, and more exceptionable, amusements. We have no scruple, therefore, in occupying a moderate space with a few remarks on the art of making verses in our language, more especially as it is a topic seldom touched by periodical writers, and treated by the learned in such a dry and profound way, the generality of readers are never the wiser for all that has been written on the subject.

As there are no established authorities in this art, and, indeed, no acknowledged principles-every rhymster being permitted to invent his own method, and write by instinct or imitation-the critic feels quite at liberty to say just what he pleases, and offer his private observations as though these were really of some moment.

The qualities of spoken words are twofold: they are both marks of ideas,-and in that usage quite arbitrary in their sound, and expressions of feeling and sensation, being in the latter function no more arbitrary or irregular than the qualities of musical sounds. The same word may be spoken in many different ways, expressing many varieties of feelings, and conditions of thought: as of pain, fear, delight, surprise, amazement

and all these kinds of expressions may be given in rapid succession to the same word, by as many inflections of the voice; but the same word, represented by written marks, stands only for an idea, or a thing, and has no effect upon the passions or the senses.

Of no less consequence is the arrangement of words,-the order of their succession,-by which a series of emotions are made to succeed each other, and a harmony of passions created in the imagination, like a piece of music. The art of versification consists, therefore, in arranging words in such order, that when read by a full and flexible voice, they shall excite a musical movement in the sense of hearing, that shall agree in quality and effect with the melody-if we may so speak-of the train of passions and objects awakened in the mind by the order of the words themselves, as they are mere marks of ideas. As the ascending and descending scale in music, and the movements on different keys, awaken different musical emotions, as of sad, gay, uncertain, musing, boisterous, heroic; so in verse, certain movements of the sounds of words, excite corresponding emotions; and in a perfect poem, the sense and the sound act together irresistibly.

Comic poets make use of a dancing, or even a trotting and stumbling, metre, full of odd combinations of sounds; while the heroic line rolls smoothly on, or makes grand pauses, like intervals in the echoes of artillery. In the blank verse of the drama, the thought sustains itself upon a lofty and slow moving line, but full of irregular turns and stops, to agree naturally with the rough gestures of passion. lyrist, again, pours out passages of unbroken melody, like passionate airs. In this art, as in all of those which belong to imagination, the common and merely

The

* A System of English Versification, containing Rules for the structure of different kinds of Verse; illustratrated by numerous Examples from the best Poets. By ERASTUS EVERETT, A.M. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 200 Broadway. Philadelphia: G. S. Appleton, 148 Chestnut street. 1848.

natural is avoided, and the beauty, power, and sweetness of discourse, given apart and by itself.

or in this from Ovid:

"Tempora Lucifero, cadit Eurus; et humida surgunt;"

"Per me si va nella citta dolente,
Per me si va nella perduta gente,"

The composition of good verse demands, therefore, at least these two qualifications or this of Dante : in the composer: first, the imaginative power, to give an harmonious order to images and passions, in their description; and lastly, an ear for the measure, fullness, and cadences of words. At present we propose only to consider this latter qualification, and to inquire by what means a naturally good ear may be led to a finer appreciation of the musical properties of speech.

Of every species of beauty, and more especially of the beauty of sounds, continuousness is the first element; a succession of pulses of sound becomes agreeable, only when the breaks, or intervals, cease to be heard; we say then of a note, in sound, that it is musical, when the pulses cannot be distinguished by the ear. The same is true of artificially colored surfaces; they are agreeable to the eye when we see them at such a distance as not to discern the numerous particles or specks of color which compose them. The same is true also of the human voice, in the expression of tender and agreeable emotions: the words require to be spoken with a certain smoothness and even monotony, as far as possible removed from the abrupt and curt style of business, or the rude and harsh tones of hatred or contempt. In a prosaic enunciation, as in counting, or naming a variety of disconnected objects, a sensible pause is made after each word, and the voice slides up and down upon each word, as if to separate and characterize each by itself. And this separation and distinctness of parts is, perhaps, the strongest characteristic of pure prose, and is constantly aimed at by the best writers of prose. Verse on the contrary demands a kind of fusion, or running together of the words, so that a line of verse may be spoken in one effort of the voice, as a bar of music is played by one movement of the hand. The line,

"Full many a tale their music tells," slips over the lip with a pouring softness, without break or pause. So in

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or Shakspeare's

"Full fathom five thy father lies,"

in the melodious lines of Milton's Lycidas or the flute-like strains of Burns, or of Theocritus, the words are melted and toned together, and the voice glides easily through the line.

These mellow lines not only characterize the best poems, but they are also the best adapted for the voice in singing; and the first line of the stanza agrees also with the first line of the musical notes. In the most perfect airs, the words and notes agree and move together. But as the lyric, or song, is the type of all poetry,-as the air which fits it, is of all music,-it is necessary to find a very perfect agreement between the two; as, for example, in the time, or duration, of each verse, agreeing with the time of the musical notes. The division of the musical air of a song into four parts of equal length, shows that the car demands not only continuity of sound, but that it shall be divided into portions of equal length, as into verse, staves, and stanzas. Poetry following the same law, is divided into feet and lines of equal length, succeeding each other with perfect regularity, or alternating with shorter equal lines, for the pleasure of variety.

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Thus, in reading the lines,

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, While the landscape round it measures," &c.,

it is necessary to a perfect reading, to fill out each line with the voice to a full and equal quantity of sound, with as great care as if chanting or singing them, and this may be done best by keeping up a regular beat with the foot.

Quantity, therefore, or the division into measures of time, is a second element of verse; each line must be stuffed out with

"The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea; sounds, to a certain fullness and plump

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